Descent Into Madness
by manyscarletskies
Summary: "I swear, Newt, we'll get through this. Together. I'll never let you be alone." What would happen if Thomas wasn't immune to the Flare? Newtmas au.


The plain walls closed in on him, caging him in his room. The urge to lash out was inescapable, so he gave in to it, driving his fist into one of the offending walls. Unfortunately, this only left him with a greater rage and smarting knuckles.

Thomas paced from one end of his room to the other, jaw clenched. Minho, Brenda and Jorge had gone into Denver to get the Swipe removed from Minho's head, and had left Thomas and Newt aboard the Berg. Thomas knew they'd had to, since Denver had no Cranks, but it still hurt.

They had tried to hide it, but their relief at leaving the non-immunes behind was obvious. Thomas had only just managed to stop himself from screaming in rage and fear as he watched one of his best friends walk away, tension draining from his shoulders as he'd left the Berg.

Suddenly, Thomas stopped and slumped down onto his bed. What was he doing? He needed to keep calm and concentrate on keeping the virus at bay. The all-consuming rage had never been this bad, and Thomas was terrified.

Ever since Janson had read out that list of the non-immunes, Thomas could feel the virus inside his brain, eating away at his sanity, driving him to madness. Newt had said he felt the same thing, and Thomas was selfishly grateful that he wasn't alone in this.

 _Knock, knock_.

Thomas forced his legs to support his weight as he stood and made his way to the door. Turning the key, he pulled the handle down and opened the door. Newt stood in the doorway, arms hanging down by his side. Thomas stepped back, allowing the older boy into his room.

Newt looked around, and Thomas watched as he took in the small dent where Thomas had punched the wall. He instinctively put his injured hand behind his back, but Newt turned and caught the movement.

"Tommy. Newt said quietly, and Thomas' breath hitched. He stared at Newt for a long moment, wondering how he was so calm. Slowly, he brought his hand out from behind his back and up in front of him. Newt took it gently, examining it from different angles. "Just bruised." He said finally, letting go of Thomas' hand slowly. Thomas closed his eyes.

"I got angry." He said, frustration making his voice wobble. He knew Newt would understand.

There was silence.

Thomas dared to open his eyes, and found Newt looking at him, expression sad and terrified and… happy?

A surprised huff escaped Thomas as he found himself in his friend's embrace. After a moment Thomas brought his arms up and returned the hug, burying his face in Newt's shoulder.

"I'm scared, Tommy." A soft whisper came from above him, and Thomas hardly dared to breathe. "Have been since they told us we weren't immune. I don't want to lose my mind." Thomas blinked away the sudden tears into Newt's top, not wanting his friend to see him so weak.

"You won't. I swear, Newt, we'll get through this. Together. I'll never let you be alone." Thomas clasped Newt's arms tightly, the older boy mirroring his actions with a wry smile.

"Thanks, Tommy."

* * *

The darkness suited Thomas, and he wrapped his arms around his knees and struggled to control himself. Putting his chin on his chest, he made himself as small as he could. When had the rage become so bad?

A day or so after Minho and the others had left the Berg, there had been a knock on the door. Newt had opened it to see a gun.

They had been taken to a place called the 'Crank Palace' and were told to 'make friends'. Thomas and Newt had stuck together, even when they'd been moved closer to the heart of the city where the further Gone Cranks were kept.

Thomas tried _so hard_ to control himself, but sometimes the rage was too strong and he had to let go. When he got a handle on himself again, he always had new cuts and bruises and there were usually dents in walls and people.

The harder Thomas tried to control himself, the less Newt seemed to care about anything.

Thomas was worried. His friend seemed to fit right in with the other Cranks, and Thomas hardly ever saw him.

This scared him more than the Flare.

When he did see Newt, it was usually at night, when he crept silently into the room the two boys shared. Thomas often tried to wake up before his friend, but he was always left with the lingering smell of sunlight and despair and the cooling mattress on the other side of the room.

During the day, Thomas kept to himself, only socializing when he couldn't avoid it. After a while, the other Cranks left him alone, and Thomas spent his days either in his room or walking around, arms wrapped around his body. If he saw Newt, the other boy never acknowledged him.

Thomas had confronted his friend about it one day, and received a bloodied lip in return. That had been the last time they'd spoken, despite Newt apologizing almost immediately. Thomas couldn't bear to see the crazed look in his friend's eyes again, and so avoided Newt like the plague.

Right now, he was huddled in a corner of the bowling alley. It was in the early hours of morning, yet Thomas could hear music blaring from a nearby building. He covered his ears, squeezing his eyes shut. He was getting better at identifying what things made him angry: loud noises, new situations and other people getting angry.

It was getting harder and harder to control himself.

But he struggled on, because he'd made a promise. He'd sworn he wouldn't let his friend be alone, and he _wasn't_ going to break his promise.

Looking up sharply, Thomas eyed the figure walking closer and closer to him. He tensed as it stopped, looking down at him.

"Tommy?" It asked, and Thomas swallowed hard.

"Yeah?" He replied, still prepared to run if things took a turn for the worse. Newt knelt down, sitting next to Thomas. The younger boy glanced at Newt, studying his profile in the faint light streaming in from the now-open door.

"I can't control it, Tommy, and I'm bloody terrified." The blond admitted, and Thomas finally relaxed. He shuffled closer to his friend so that their shoulders were touching.

"You're controlling it now." He pointed out, and Newt's forehead furrowed.

"I know that, but I can't for long. Everything-" Newt shuddered, and Thomas instinctively reached out a hand. "Everything makes me so _angry_." Newt didn't react as Thomas' hand grasped his, so Thomas held it tighter.

"I know." He said, leaning his head back against the wall. "Hell, _I know_. But we've got to keep fighting, Newt." Thomas concentrated on the feel of the wall at his back, and Newt's hand in his own. "Who knows, maybe Minho will find a cure-"

" **There is no cure**!" Newt burst out, whipping his head round to glare at Thomas with frightening speed. Thomas shrank back, hardly daring to move. Newt blinked, eyes clearing and he sat back, removing his hand from Thomas'. "There is no cure."

"You don't know that." Thomas replied, and Newt rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. "You don't!" He defended himself passionately. "And I have to believe that Minho can find a cure, because otherwise **I'll go mad**!"

With a start, Thomas realized that their positions had changed, and he had Newt backed up against a wall. He slumped back, closing his eyes and feeling the wetness on his lashes.

Fingertips brushed his cheek, and Thomas froze as Newt wiped a lone tear away. "Maybe I already have." Thomas whispered. He heard Newt changing position, and wanted to sob when he felt an arm drape over his shoulders.

"Don't worry, Tommy, we can be mad together. I promise we'll always be together."

* * *

"I won't leave without you!" Minho yelled, and Thomas broke inside. His two best friends stood toe-to-toe, screaming at each other.

"I trusted you!" Newt shouted back, shoving Minho back. The immune boy staggered before finding his balance. "I trusted you and you couldn't shucking do it! You're a coward, and I never want to see your bloody face again!" Minho looked shocked at the amount of venom coating Newt's words.

Thomas knew it wasn't his friend speaking, but didn't know how to get through to Newt with so many people around.

"I don't know what you're talking about!" Minho cried, running a frustrated hand through his hair. Newt scowled, stepping closer to Minho again. He hissed something in a low voice, and Minho's eyes widened in realization. Thomas inched closer, ready to get between his two friends if things escalated. "I didn't- I haven't opened it. You said wait until the right time! How am I supposed to know when that is?" Minho asked, gesturing wildly with his arms.

"I don't know, when I got dragged to this place and dumped like a piece of klunk? Did you think about opening it _then_?" Newt snarled. Minho frowned, upset.

"No, I didn't! Because I came to take you back with me. I told you, I won't leave without you!" Thomas knew exactly what he had to do.

"I'll go." No one heard him. " **I'll go**!" He yelled, and everyone froze. Slowly, Minho and Newt turned to face him.

"What?" Thomas saw Newt's mouth move, but he turned to Minho. He didn't want to stay here with the Cranks and rotting buildings and the sadness covering everything, and at least Minho would have one friend. Newt seemed very familiar with the other Cranks – too familiar for Thomas' ease of mind.

"I'll go with you." Minho strode over to Thomas, relief evident in his eyes.

"Come on, Thomas. Let's get out of here." He said, beginning to usher Thomas out of the building. Thomas met Newt's eyes. They were clear for once, full of betrayal and guilt. Thomas swallowed past the lump in his throat, remembering last night.

 _-sleeping side-by-side, legs entwined, whispered promises in the dark-_

Thomas stopped, holding out his hand to Newt. "I don't break my promises." Thomas whispered. The blond boy stared at Thomas' hand, the muscles in his jaw jumping. Minho was urging Thomas to leave, but he didn't move. He prayed Newt would come; he didn't want to leave his best friend here with the Cranks-

Newt turned away, and Thomas left.

* * *

Newt shook as he heard Minho and Thomas leave. He'd wanted to take Thomas' hand so badly it _hurt_ , but he couldn't risk hurting his friends. If he'd gone with Minho and Thomas, he would've ended up injuring them or worse. He couldn't let that happen. Even if it meant his friends hated him for the rest of his life.

Which he knew wasn't going to be all that long, anyway.

The Cranks around him patted him on the back, congratulating him for standing up for them.

He wanted to be sick. For the first time in a long while, Newt was clear-headed without Thomas around. He closed his eyes, expecting to feel tears in his eyes but instead finding nothing.

That scared him more than a lot of things.

One of the less Gone Cranks came over to him and pulled him into a secluded corner. Newt was too caught up in his thoughts to pull away. The Crank waited until everyone else had more or less forgotten about what had just happened before speaking.

"They were your friends, right? Why didn't you go with them?" Newt frowned. Who was this man, and why was he so interested in Minho and Thomas?

"I don't want to hurt them." He replied truthfully, feeling a spark of anger towards himself. He shoved it down deep into himself.

"A group of us are planning to take Denver in a few days. You up for it? You look like you could do with getting out of this place, one way or another." The man offered, and Newt looked up at him.

"Why bloody not?"

* * *

"Thomas? Thomas!" Minho's urgent shouting brought Thomas back to himself.

"What?" He snapped, frowning. Minho blinked, surprised at Thomas' tone. Sitting up, Thomas held a hand to his head. It _hurt_. "My head…" He looked to Minho. "What did you do to me? Where are we going?" He shuffled back as Minho stood up.

"We had to drug you, shank, because you were getting all crazy on us. Couldn't let you go wanderin' round and destroying everything." Thomas frowned.

"I don't remember any of that." He admitted. He looked around, finally taking in his surroundings. They were in the back of a truck, and just as Thomas realised that, there was a jolt. "Where are we going?" He asked again.

"The WCKD lab. We're going to take over." Minho said, looking excited. As Thomas looked closer at his friend, he could see a hint of apprehension in his eyes. He didn't know if it was towards the mission or him.

"Right. And you brought me because, what, I can go crazy and kill loads of people?" From Minho's lack of reply, Thomas guessed that this was exactly why he was being brought along. "Minho, I _can't control it_. I could kill you!" Minho lent forwards.

"Listen up, shank. We brought you along because, I hate to say it, you're my shucking friend. I wasn't just gonna leave you somewhere with a bunch of slintheads who would probably kill you before you killed them. So, you're here with me whether you like it or not." Minho sat back, folding his arms across his chest.

"I shouldn't have come." Thomas muttered to himself, turning around to peer out of a window. The Scorch flashed by, and Thomas couldn't bear to watch it for more than a few seconds. He sat back down again and concentrated on keeping himself under control.

"What the…" There came a voice from the front of the van.

"What is it?" Minho yelled, frantically looking out of all the windows. Thomas moved into a corner as so not to be in the way.

"Cranks!" Thomas' eyes widened.

"Minho! Minho, I can help!" Minho stopped moving and stared at Thomas. "I'll go talk to them, make them let you through."

"But then we'll leave you behind." Minho pointed out, and Thomas nodded.

"Yeah. But then you can go do whatever it is you're doing without having to worry about me going crazy and killing everyone. I shouldn't have come with you in the first place, so let me make it right." He finished, already reaching for the handles of the doors. Minho blocked his way.

"No shucking way, dude. We'll get through this together or not at all." He said, looking determined. Thomas shrugged, backing away from the doors. He would wait until the right time, and then help the only way he could.

"Hold on, guys! We're going through!" The driver yelled, and the truck shot forward. They gained more and more speed, until-

"Shit!" The driver swore and slammed on the brakes.

"What are you doing? Keep going!" Minho yelled angrily, pounding on the divide between them and the driver. Thomas stood up, looking out of his window again. He could see a large group of people all gathered in the middle of the road, holding various weapons. And standing slightly apart from them was-

"Newt!" Thomas yelled, kicking open the door and running.

"Thomas, you slinthead, get back in here!" Minho shouted desperately, but Thomas ignored him. Newt looked up, shocked. Thomas crashed into him, wrapping his arms around the taller boy.

Nothing happened for a long moment.

Finally, Thomas felt Newt move, and he was pushed away.

"What are you bloody doing?" Newt asked, obviously struggling not to shout. Thomas didn't let his friend back away from him.

"Helping." Newt blinked in surprise, and Thomas let go of him. "Hey!" He yelled, glaring at the group of Cranks blocking Minho's way. "Yeah, you lot!" They turned to look at him, and one of them sneered.

"Look, it's lover boy. Better watch out!" Thomas felt the rage building, but threw it into his words.

"Yeah, you should! You see that van?" He asked, pointing. "They're going to try and help people like you. Like us! And if you don't let them through, then a whole lot of good people are going to die." Laughter followed his words.

"Hear that, boys? 'A whole lot of good people are going to die'. What a shame it would be if we didn't let them through." The same man continued. Thomas felt Newt shudder at his side.

"You've bloody done it now, Tommy." Confused, Thomas turned to his friend. His eyes were clear as he looked down at Thomas. "They weren't paying any buggin' attention to the van, but now you've gone and pointed it out, so they're not going to think about anything else. That's how it works with Cranks." Thomas reached out his hand and wound his fingers with Newt's. His hand hadn't changed; Newt's palm was still dry and warm and just as comforting as it had been that night in the bowling alley.

"What do I do?" He asked. "Minho's in there." Thomas heard Newt's breathing stop, then continue.

"We get them to concentrate on something else." Newt replied, turning Thomas to face him. "Do you trust me?" Newt asked. Thomas looked into his eyes. They were as clear as they'd been in the Glade.

"With my life." He replied. Newt nodded, and took a step back, removing his hand from Thomas' and looking at the ground. He took a deep breath, and Thomas jerked back as a fist swung towards his face.

He held his hands to his nose, looking up at his friend. "What was that for?" He asked, voice muffled. Newt didn't reply in words, settling instead for yelling wordlessly as he came towards Thomas again.

Backing up, Thomas ducked the next blow. "What are you doing?" He asked, utterly confused. He caught another glimpse of Newt's eyes, expecting them to be crazed. Instead, they were still clear.

Unable to duck the next blow, Thomas found himself very close to Newt's face as his friend grabbed his shirt and pulled him in. "Go with it." Newt hissed before releasing him. Thomas staggered, trying to find his balance.

" **Thomas**!" He heard Minho yelling his name in the distance, and hoped that his friend would just stay in the van. Thomas launched a half-hearted blow at Newt, who knocked it aside with ease.

"C'mon, shank!" Newt snarled, coming towards Thomas yet again. Hating himself, Thomas drove a fist into Newt's stomach, making him double over. He rammed into Newt, knocking his friend to the ground.

"Hey! Leave him alone!" Thomas instinctively turned to face the voice, and found himself with yet another fist in his face. He groaned, reeling. Reaching a hand up, he gingerly felt the area around his eye. It was definitely bruised.

Hearing the sound of flesh slapping flesh, he focused back on the scene in front of him. Newt had regained his feet and was now fighting with another Crank. Thomas managed to grab his arm and pull him away.

"What are you doing?" He asked, puzzled. Newt leant on him, breathing hard.

"Causing a distraction." Thomas looked up. Newt's face was bruised and bloody, and as he met Thomas' gaze, the brunet could see a hint of madness in his eyes. But as Newt focused on breathing, his eyes cleared again.

"I told you you could control it." Thomas smiled, proud. A wry smile turned up the corners of Newt's mouth.

"Only when you're with me, Tommy." With a rumble, Thomas heard the engine of the van start up and the vehicle shot past. Thomas saw a hand pounding on the window as it drove away, and felt a flash of regret for leaving Minho alone to fight WCKD.

But as he felt the warmth of Newt beside him and the wind in his hair, he couldn't bring himself to chase the van.

Somewhere in the fight, a gun fired. Thomas jerked and looked down at himself, checking if he'd been shot. Newt glanced at him, straightening up with a silent question in his eyes. Thomas nodded, giving Newt a grin.

"Let's join in, shall we?" He said, eyes lighting up at the carnage in front of him. Thomas took a step forward, but his legs gave out and he sank to his knees. Confused, he looked down at his chest to see a red stain blooming across the front of his shirt. "Oh." He said.

"Tommy?" Newt crouched down next to him and spotted the wound. He paused. "Alright, Tommy, don't you worry. You're going to be just fine. Just bloody fine." Thomas couldn't help a snicker.

"Yeah, I'll be _bloody_ fine. Because I'm bleeding." He laughed manically, unable to stop. A small part of him cried out to Newt for help, please, stop the madness!

"Tommy, lie down. Tommy!" Newt cried, trying to get Thomas to listen to him. Instead, Thomas tried to stand back up on shaky legs.

He ended up falling to the ground again.

Thomas lay on his back, Newt's hand pressed hard against the entrance wound. He stared up at the blue sky, eyes rolling from one side to the other. He could still hear the sounds of fighting, and a large part of him longed to get up and join in. However, Newt's presence prevented him from moving.

"-mmy. Tommy! Look at me. Tommy! _Thomas_!" Finally, Thomas forced his eyes to focus on Newt, who was staring at him. "Tommy, I…" Newt's forehead creased, and he shifted closer to Thomas. The injured boy breathed in, wincing at the sudden pain. The world sharpened until he was seeing clearly again.

"Yeah, Newt?" Thomas asked, voice soft.

"I gotta- I have to tell you something, ok?" Newt replied, reaching his free hand up to move Thomas' hair out of his face. Thomas' eyes flickered shut at the contact. "But you've got to look at me. Tommy, keep looking at me. _Please_ , Tommy."

Thomas opened his eyes again, squinting as Newt's face filled his vision. "C'mon, Newt, just let me go to sleep. I'm tired." He complained, realizing exactly how true it was. His body felt like lead, and it was a monumental effort even to keep his eyes open. But he managed, because Newt was there.

"I know you're tired, Tommy, but you've gotta stay awake. For me. Can you do that?" Thomas considered, before moving his head in a slight nod. "Good that. Now, I'm just going to lift your shirt and have a look-" Thomas yelped as the fabric was removed from his wound, trying to roll away from the pain. A firm hand held him still. "Nah, it's not that bad. You'll be fine." Thomas scoffed.

"Don't lie to me, Newt. Not now." The pain cleared his head, and he looked at Newt with his own eyes. "What did you want… to tell me?" He asked, suddenly finding breathing difficult. Newt swallowed.

"I… uh- never mind." Newt stuttered, looking anywhere but at Thomas. The brunet started to speak but was stopped by a violent coughing fit that left him shaking. He looked at Newt with pleading eyes, not wanting to speak for fear of making the pain worse. "I-I-" Newt stammered, and suddenly Thomas found his lips occupied in another form of movement aside from speech.

Newt's lips were dry and desperate against his own, and it was more of a firm press than an actual kiss. After a moment, Newt pulled back. "I'm sorry, Tommy." Newt spoke before Thomas could, regret evident in his eyes. "I just…"

Thomas forced his lips into a smile, cutting his friend off. With effort, he reached his hand up and patted Newt's, wordlessly telling him that it was all right. Newt blinked rapidly. "I'm sorry for… breaking my promise." He choked out, finding it harder and harder to take a deep enough breath.

The world swirled before Thomas' eyes, and he felt his eyes rolling into the back of his head. He could faintly hear Newt's voice calling for him, but he couldn't make his eyes open again. The darkness crashed in, and he didn't have the strength to hold it at bay.

Slowly, he felt himself falling. Deeper and deeper he went, Newt's voice becoming fainter and fainter.

Until finally, it disappeared.

* * *

A scream tore out of Newt's throat as he saw Thomas stop breathing. A red hue coloured everything as Newt stood up, and he couldn't help but thing that it was the exact same shade as the blood staining his hands.

Suddenly, he found himself in the middle of the fistfight, throwing punches left and right. His rage blotted out everything.

Then, there was a sharp pain in his chest.

Newt looked down. A jagged knife was being withdrawn from his torso.

He fell to his knees, feeling a certain deja vu. Blood poured from his wound like a waterfall.

He tried to scream. His throat wouldn't make a sound.

The ground looked comfortable, and so Newt allowed himself to fall face first onto the concrete. It was blissfully cool on his overheated face.

The fight went on above him, but it was drowned out by the rushing sound in his ears. Newt's red vision faded, and he stared at the shoes moving in his eye-line.

 _I made a promise to you, Tommy, and I don't break my promises._

 _We'll be together again soon._

* * *

 **AN: Hey guys! This is my first TMR fic, so I hope it wasn't too bad. This oneshot was based off a prompt from** ProngsPotter22 **so all credit to them :)**

 **Please review if you liked it, or even if you didn't. I'd appreciate feedback :)**

 **Thanks for reading!**


End file.
